


Intangible Treasures

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Campfires, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Married Life, Post-Canon, S'mores, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22051399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: There's a sort of gentle calm, in the life that Aziraphale and Crowley have built for themselves. There's nothing to worry about, outside of how much hot chocolate to make and what sort of blankets to take into the garden with them. And that's just the sort of life they intended.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58





	Intangible Treasures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fractus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fractus/gifts).



> I have not written a true G fic in such a long time, but here we go! This was for a gift exchange for one of my lovely friends <3 I hope you enjoy this! The exchange was also entirely blind, so it's pretty funny that I got to give something to you.
> 
> Real Sick Fluff in here okay it's diabetes giving fluff. Any comments or kudos super appreciated! thanks so much for supporting me <3

Winter came every year, right on time, and it was always something spectacular. There wasn’t quite a winter like the first winter that Aziraphale and Crowley had spent in their new cottage, in the South Downs. There was always snow for the holidays, and there wasn’t a holiday that they didn’t celebrate. It was more fun to celebrate everything instead of limiting themselves to one holiday—holidays were human inventions, anyway.

Their yard was decorated in lights and snowflakes and bells. There was a particular decoration that Aziraphale had always loved best, because, when it was set off by any sort of movement, it would play the loveliest song. Crowley hadn’t enjoyed it nearly as much, but he would listen to as many repetitions of _I Saw Three Ships_ as he needed to, just to ensure that Aziraphale was smiling the whole time.

Crowley’s favorite decoration was the only cartoon, purely Christmas themed decoration they had of the Grinch wearing Santa Claus’s red coat. Crowley had seen the movie exactly once and thought it was ever so charming that he couldn’t resist buying the first, giant decoration for his yard that he could. Aziraphale didn’t care for it quite so much, but he would certainly fight with the inflator as much as he needed to, to ensure that Crowley did enjoy himself.

There was one thing that they both loved, even if it required a bit of magic. Snow would fall for every winter, because it looked nice out in the yard, but it did not look so nice in the garden Crowley had made behind the moss stone fence. He’d crafted it with his own hands, the proper number of shouts and threats, and a little bit of demon magic. That made it perfect, of course, because he’d made it for Aziraphale. There were pathways carved through it with stone pavers, winding their way around the flowerbeds and the shrubs and the trees.

At the middle of the garden, where Crowley might have once thought to put his very own apple tree, was very much nothing of the sort. It had been years since either of them had heard from Heaven or Hell, and with radio silence always came the time to heal. Crowley had found rather fast that the whole thing was easy to let go of. The Fall, Armageddon: none of it mattered in the wake of the rest of eternity they would live without mind for either.

Aziraphale had talked to him about it, once, when it was still summer, and Crowley had come back in from a long day working in the garden. Where Aziraphale had insisted he would play no housewife, he always had a cold drink waiting for Crowley when he came in. Crowley always drank it.

“Have you ever thought about the possibility of being an angel, again?” Aziraphale asked before sipping on his lemonade. His was terribly sweet, and Crowley preferred his sour. Aziraphale always made two batches.

“Once, I think,” Crowley shrugged. “It’s been awhile though. Figured I don’t need the damn buggers anymore. I’ve got the best Heaven has to give right here.”

Aziraphale had rather thought Crowley meant himself—he had been an angel, once, before it all. Crowley wasn’t exactly the humblest demon, as humility among demons went. If not himself, Aziraphale would think that he meant the cottage they lived in, the garden. There did remain one sliver of doubt; when Aziraphale had tried to call the garden Eden, Crowley had remarked that it was no creation of God’s that did this. It was Crowley’s, and it would not be called that.

They had never given it a name, but it had always been Paradise. In the middle of it, where Crowley would not think to put an apple tree, he had put the circular stone path. In the middle of it, built up with more stone and brick, was a place for a fire. There were benches around it, purchased from a hardware store. Crowley would have preferred the obnoxious effort of moving cushions in and out of the weather to whatever Hell they might face trying to fight with a more aesthetically pleasing stone bench.

The plastic lawn furniture was horribly comfortable, Aziraphale had always felt. It was one of those things that the clever, human people had been able to create of their own whim, and Aziraphale was certainly happy to partake in it. The cushions were always quite wonderful, too. They could buy, or miracle, any sort of cushion they fancied. They were, at the moment, cutely winter themed cushions that were covered in small snowflakes and snowmen. Aziraphale had picked them out.

The strange part about the garden was not it’s beauty or it’s stone fire pit, but it was how it never changed with the outside. Beyond the fence it was cold and snowing, the ground quite blanketed in its way. Inside the fence, it was still cold, but the snow stopped at an invisible line some gathering of feet above the garden. The snow disappeared at that invisible line, and the plants were still able to thrive. It made for easy nights, after all. Snow was beautiful to look at, but not so beautiful to sit in.

“Have you gotten everything, yet?” Crowley called over his shoulder. He was lugging _blankets,_ of all things, out into the garden. He’d already ensured the cushions were set up for their little evening; everything else had been left to Aziraphale.

“I’m still working on it, dear,” Aziraphale replied. “For the life of me, I can’t seem to remember where I put the marshmallows.”

“Try the cupboard over the stove!” With that, Crowley stepped out into the garden. Above it, the snow was falling, and the night air was crisp.

Aziraphale found the marshmallows in the exact place Crowley had suggested, and he beamed for it. Crowley did most of the work in the kitchen, but the sweets were not his forte. Aziraphale preferred to bake, and so, he was always the one finding nooks and crannies to support his ingredients. Somehow, Crowley was still the one who remembered where things were, and it was quite marvelous of him. Really.

With that, Aziraphale had the marshmallows, the graham crackers, the chocolate bars, and the sticks. They were going to make s’mores. Aziraphale had heard about them once; he’d been so enamored with the idea that he just had to try them. People suggested that they were best cooked fresh, over a true fire, outside. They were something like a camping treat gone mainstream. Aziraphale thought it was all rather clever.

Crowley hadn’t been a huge fan at the premise of a s’more. It was made entirely of sweet, melted things. Things that Crowley wasn’t a huge fan of eating. However, Aziraphale had given him that _face_ that he made when he wanted something just so desperately that Crowley would be quite a fiend if he were to refuse. Crowley, always a fiend, regardless, gave in whenever Aziraphale pouted just right. Really, he should have kissed the pout right away, but this was important to Aziraphale.

If it was important to Aziraphale, it would be important to Crowley.

Crowley had the outside entirely set up by the time Aziraphale brought out his makings. He set up each individual ingredient on the wall of the fire pit, so that it would be something of an assembly line to create a s’more. Then, he hurried back inside.

They’d made hot chocolate together: the true melted, warm kind that Aziraphale loved so much. After they’d made it, Aziraphale put it all together in a thermos with two little cups, so they could really set everything right. Aziraphale didn’t want to chance the hurt of their finer mugs outside on the stone, so the cheap kind from the store seemed well enough. It added to the overall mood, too, he thought. Crowley hadn’t cared; he’d just made sure it was paid for.

Aziraphale wouldn’t bother with plates or utensils. He’d been told that the _point_ of s’mores was to get a little messy, and it might surely make for some fun. Marshmallow might require a bit of force to remove, as it were. Maybe Crowley would be more than apt to apply that sort of force if Aziraphale were to, say, get some of it stuck on the corner of his lip. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage such an exact placement, but Aziraphale had never been one to back down from a challenge.

“There,” Aziraphale said when he set down the thermos. “I believe we’re all set.”

“I’d say so,” Crowley responded. He looked over their work and nodded.

Each of them was equally dressed for the occasion. Aziraphale was wearing what he tended to, but the button up shirt was a soft red color, and the waistcoat was an equally soft blue that had the imprints of snowflakes done up the front of it. Crowley had opted for something a tad more ridiculous, one of those things the clever human people had called _ugly sweaters_. Crowley hadn’t thought they were so ugly, and the very concept of a dog on two feet had tickled him near silly. Everything else was just a plus—like the fact that it lit up.

“You look wonderful, my dear.” Aziraphale said it like he meant it, with a silly smile on his face and a grab for Crowley’s wrists, to put Crowley’s arms around his waist.

“It’s warm,” Crowley conceded. He didn’t want to admit how much he’d come to enjoy the silly, winter fashion. “You’re dashing as always, love. You find that at the store, or did you make it yourself?”

Aziraphale looked positively giddy at the question, and he wiggled a bit where he stood, in Crowley’s arms, as he smoothed his hands down over Crowley’s ridiculous sweater. “I know you mean by miracle, my dear, but I did actually make it myself. You see, I’ve been looking into sewing. It’s so difficult to find the style that I prefer, these days, and I thought it might be a nice hobby.”

Crowley nodded. “It suits you. You look good, I mean. Nice stitching.”

Aziraphale’s grin was wide, warm, and genuine. Crowley leaned down to kiss it right off of his face, and Aziraphale reacted in kind: with his arms around Crowley’s neck, his hands in Crowley’s hair. Crowley had taken to wearing it long, recently. After Armageddon, he’d figured it was time for a change.

“Now, then,” Aziraphale said, pulling back. He tapped his hands into Crowley’s chest before wriggling out of his hold, facing towards the fire. “I suppose we should start a fire. You can do that, can’t you?”

“One fire, coming right up.” All Crowley had to do was point at the meticulously placed sticks and logs before the whole thing came alive.

“Ah,” Aziraphale smiled, his hands together. “Maybe next time, we could try starting it the human way?”

“Next time,” Crowley promised. They’d gotten more into that, after Armageddon. If they were going to live more with humans, they might as well learn how to start acting like it.

After, they both settled down on the plastic lawn furniture and curled up close to each other. There was one, large blanket that was draped over both of their shoulders, and they each had an extra one for themselves. Being so close was warm enough, but there was nothing quite as good as that extra bit of warmth that made the eyes a bit droopy, the chest a bit full. The fire was helping, against the crisp night air that Crowley let in.

Above them, around them, where little floating lights. They were a special occasion sort of thing, only, but they were an immense help. Crowley and Aziraphale had never been able to decide what sort of lighting they wanted in the garden; Aziraphale wanted something old fashioned and sturdy, where Crowley had wanted something modern and sleek. Instead of deciding, they’d put it to the side and intended to only ever do outdoors things during the day, when the sun was good enough.

According to the Internet, however, s’mores were best made at night. Crowley wasn’t sure how it mattered one way or the other, but he was always happy to go with one of Aziraphale’s whims. Thus, the floating little lights. Aziraphale could whip them up whenever they so desired, and it entirely eradicated the need to decide what sort of outdoor lighting they would acquire. One day, they’d come to a compromise. Until that day, Crowley rather liked how beautiful it looked.

“Now, then. Shall I teach you how to put one of these together?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale explained it. You had the graham cracker, which were all to be broken in half. Aziraphale had already done that, so they didn’t need to worry. He’d also broken down the chocolate bars into the perfect sized pieces to fit onto the crackers. One half of the graham cracker would go on the bottom, the chocolate bar piece would sit atop of it, and then came the important part. This was the part that required work, because a toasted, hot, melting marshmallow would go on top of the chocolate bar piece. Once it was all topped with the second half of the cracker, they would be free to squish it down and eat it.

“Some people prefer their marshmallows lightly toasted. Others said that burnt was the proper method. I suppose we’ll just have to find out, yes?” Aziraphale smiled.

“Sounds like fun,” Crowley muttered. He was here to see Aziraphale’s happy little grin, and if that meant sticking a white puffy thing into a fire, then sure. It was the most fun Crowley had ever had.

Aziraphale made sure they both had a stick for the fire and a marshmallow. The marshmallows went on the ends of the sticks, he explained, and then the marshmallow went over the fire. Aziraphale hovered his marshmallow just over the tips of the flames, to ensure he could get an even toasting. He watched with abject horror, though, as Crowley stuck his right into the fire.

“Um, Crowley, dear, I don’t think that’s how—”

“You said some people liked them burnt, right? Someone’s gotta test it, and I know how you’re not a big fan of hot stuff.”

“Now, that’s entirely not true.”

“Alright,” Crowley shrugged. “Bet you put more milk in the hot chocolate after I walked off, though.”

Aziraphale’s face flushed a bright right, and Crowley smiled. He bumped into Aziraphale’s shoulder so he could lean far enough over to kiss him on the cheek, then he returned to his flaming marshmallow.

Once the marshmallow had flamed enough, Crowley pulled it out of the fire and blew it out. The entire thing had turned from a white, puffy pillow into a black, sticky mess. Crowley dropped it over the chocolate bar piece, already perfectly centered on half a graham cracker, and used the second half of cracker to help pull the marshmallow off the stick.

“Here goes nothing, love,” Crowley said, quite like eating something so made of raw sugar would kill him. He brought the chocolate mess to his lips and took the first, crunchy bite.

Getting the marshmallow to separate was the hardest part, but then, Crowley was crunching on the thing like he’d just crafted the most gourmet meal he could think of. Really, it was good. Even if it was mostly sugar, Crowley did like the taste of it. There was just enough _burnt_ going on that he could look past the huge block of chocolate. He didn’t even stop eating it until there wasn’t anything left in his hands to eat. By then, Aziraphale had only just started to make his own s’more, with one very lightly toasted marshmallow.

“I take it you liked it?” Aziraphale asked expectantly.

Crowley hummed, pleased. “Very good idea, angel. Very good.”

Aziraphale beamed; that’s what Crowley had come out here to see.

While Aziraphale prepared his first s’mores, Crowley poured out the hot chocolate. It was definitely not _hot_ , anymore, so much as it was a pleasant sort of warm. Aziraphale had definitely added more milk, after Crowley left. Crowley didn’t mind, either way. The only time he ever drank hot chocolate was on nights like these, when Aziraphale wanted to do a silly, human winter thing. The sillier, the better, and hot chocolate was toeing a line.

Aziraphale’s top graham cracker ended up breaking in half, with the force he had to use to squish the s’more down into an edible size. He frowned, when it happened, but he took a bit anyway. His face lit up immediately, the taste of it on his tongue. Oh, it tasted absolutely glorious. The sugar, the sweet, the honey of the cracker. All of it was good on its own, but together, Aziraphale had never had something quite the same. He washed the first bite down with hot chocolate, then finished the rest.

“Oh, my, that was wonderful,” Aziraphale beamed. “I would like to have another, but I want to try the kind you had. Do you think you could—I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, would you make me one?” Aziraphale asked. He would have been wringing his hands together if not for the little thermos mug he had between them.

“My pleasure, angel. One melted sugar thing coming right up.”

“It’s called a _s_ _’more_ , dear,” Aziraphale frowned.

“Whatever.”

Crowley made the thing, a near melted marshmallow baked in the middle of the fire. He made sure it was cool enough before he handed the s’more over to Aziraphale to try. Aziraphale looked at it with an excitement on his face that children wore when they talked their parents into buying them that toy they’d seen in the store. That excitement didn’t disappear when Aziraphale tried the s’more, either. It rather tasted much the same, but _Crowley_ had made it for him.

In return, Aziraphale made one of his own for Crowley to try. Crowley didn’t wear his feelings as well on his face as Aziraphale did, even if he was more eager to express them in words, but Aziraphale could still tell when he loved it. Love was the operative word, and Aziraphale could feel it radiating. Crowley even took a sip of hot chocolate, and that Love only grew stronger.

Crowley Loved helplessly, these days, and especially on nights like this. All he had to do was bask in Aziraphale’s closeness, his joy, his happiness. It was like Aziraphale couldn’t want for anything more in the world than what they had, here, in a garden of their own little making. Crowley wouldn’t dare want past it, either, because it was beautiful. Very much in the same way that Aziraphale was beautiful and had always been as such. A little angelic, sometimes, but Crowley would be lying if he said it bothered him.

Crowley’s demonic bit didn’t bother Aziraphale much, either. In fact, Aziraphale had been so ready to believe that Crowley believed himself to be the best thing Heaven ever created because that’s how he felt—that Crowley was something truly fantastic that the Almighty had set about to make with Her own hands. Maybe he didn’t work out quite the way she hoped, but Aziraphale sure that this Crowley, the one who put an arm around him and kissed the corner of his lips while he chomped on this third s’more, was better than any plan the Almighty had had for him.

It made sense, really, why Crowley wouldn’t dare want this garden to be Eden. God had made Eden, and if Aziraphale was willing to believe that what they had, now, was better than anything She could have planned for, then it couldn’t be Eden. It would be better than Eden. Something new. Something different. What that was, Aziraphale wasn’t sure, but he knew the answer was somewhere in that longing look that Crowley gave him. They’d never needed words.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏 Froge Bounces 𓆏  
> [Top Crowley Dicsord](https://discord.gg/6UgMsjH)  
> [Check me out on Tumblr!](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/tantumunawrites)  
> 


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